We are in lock down.
Our little Miss1 has proven to be very different from her older siblings. She climbs, for one. And she works things out, like which lids go with which containers in our Tupperware draw. I’m over forty years older than her and I don’t have the patience for that!
Tracey was racing around this morning throwing lunchboxes into daycare bags and locating water bottles. Twice she’d needed to step over Miss1, who was sitting in the middle of the kitchen putting on her shoes. Just as Tracey zipped up the bags Miss1 stood up.
“Bye, bye,” she said to Tracey and headed to the sliding door which leads onto the balcony.
While Tracey watched Miss1 stood on tippy toes and unlatched the door before sliding it open and stepping outside.
Once on the balcony Miss1 went straight to the gate which seals it off from the yard. There she set about removing my clever childproof lock – two hair ties wrapped twice each around the latch. Suffice to say I now need to remove the word ‘childproof’ from any future reference to this arrangement.
From here, Tracey watched Miss1 descend the step and trudge up the garden path to the front gate, stand on the retaining wall and lean over to open the gate latch which would then have let her out onto footpath and within meters of the busiest road for several blocks.
Not that she got that far, of course.
Tracey swooped on her and took her back inside. Then Tracey swooped on me and took me outside.
“Look! She could have got out! She could have been hit by a car!” Tracey ‘said’ to me. She was a little manic in a way I suspect most mothers are when something like this happens and they start to wonder what might have happened if they hadn’t been there. “You have to do something!”
“Yep,” I said, acknowledging my instructions, and Tracey disappeared inside with our youngest child.
Well it took some thinking but I managed to pull something pretty damn amazeballs out of my bag of tricks.
“Done,” I told Tracey a few minutes later.
It has to be said she didn’t look anywhere near as convinced as I sounded. Mind you, given some of my past attempts at being handy (post: Well Hung) I guess that’s to be expected.
“Yep. I used one of the elastic luggage straps,” I told her.
“The red one?”
Tracey pointed behind me. “Like she’s holding?”
While I wrestled the strap off Miss1 Tracey informed me that tomorrow I’ll be spending part of my lunch break at the local hardware looking for a new sensible solution to try keep the Stalig Devereaux shut tight so the little Steve McQueen/James Garner wannabe can’t escape.
I’m thinking maybe something from the masking tape aisle, what do you reckon? If I strap her legs together that should slow her down.
It might nearly have to be that drastic because I suspect once I’ve put something in place to foil her attempts at leaving by the front door she’ll just start tunneling.
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